


A Buck and Change Episode 10 or The Meal

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Humor, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-07-21
Updated: 1999-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: After arresting Ray for stalking Ma and Buck, Fraser's ears suffer horribly. This story is a sequel toA Buck and Change Episode 9 or The Red Line.





	A Buck and Change Episode 10 or The Meal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

 

 

  
due South: A Buck and Change 10

**Warnings: R M/M Oh, really  
cringe inducing lyrics. And when Ray started on that second song I just  
couldn't bring myself to stick lyrics on the Promises list.  I *really*  
can't swear this falls under the erotica label. Kinky? Definitely.**

Promises: Well, I don't think I can make any about this episode. Sorry. But some of you might actually *like* the songs. Might remind you of Ray's voice in North, eh? Hey! Watch it! You're supposed to throw otters, not bolos! Yikes! Turnbulli's incoming! (Ask Buffy's twin, Katrina. *She's* responsible for the frozen Turnbullis.)  Quiz by the ever delightful Laurie Taylor.  Beta Reading by Dy.  And a dedication. ~To Del~ 

#  A Buck & Change  - Ep 10

#  or _The Meal_

by Mitch Hudson

*Something* had to be done. This was getting to be a regular thing with Frobisher. Saturday at the beach, Saturday at the park, or Saturday at a movie. Ray lowered the binoculars and scrubbed his palm against his forehead. His vantage point on the hill overlooking the almost-deserted beach was perfect. An hour ago he'd lay down on the grass, propped himself up on his elbows and began the stakeout. The weather was still too cool for swimmers but he saw the occasional beachcomber wander past his mother and the guy who kept bringing her out here. They were listening to some kind of music, he caught snatches of it in the breeze every once in a while. 

"Hmm hmm," Ray peered through the binoculars as he began to hum the tune he thought he heard, "hmm, secret . . .*aye* gent man, secret *aye* gent man, they've given you uh numbuh an taken way your name-" He stopped, suddenly alerted by their movement. 

They were getting food out of the basket now. Sandwiches? Or would she have brought some of Frannie's meatloaf left over from last night? Surely she wouldn't have made something special just for this picnic, something special for *him*. If meatloaf was good enough for her own children then it was *certainly* good enough for that Mountie. Probably had no taste buds anyway. If Benny's cooking was anything to judge by then all Mounties must be trained to survive on pemmican, stew, or . . . rice! He remembered being with Benny at his father's cabin, waiting on an ambush and nothing to eat in the place but bags of rice. He chuckled at the memory, not at all concerned that the sound would be overheard by the two at the base of the cliff. The roaring waves would more than drown out any sounds he might make. 

Ray peered through the binoculars again. Pollo! She'd made Petto di pollo in--he focused a bit-- in salsa di lattuga. He swallowed and shifted lower to press his empty belly against the grass. Maybe skipping breakfast had been a mistake. He could hop in the Riv and buzz down the lake shore road to that little hamburger place. He'd only be gone twenty minutes, tops. They were busy eating. So . . . yeah. He'd risk it. 

Ray tucked the binoculars back in their case and rolled over. A dark silhouette startled him. 

"Hello, Ray." 

"Benny! Jeeze! How many times I gotta tell you? Stop *doin'* that!" Ray complained as he slumped back to the ground and stared up at Benny's towering form. 

The Mountie stepped over Ray's prone body straddling him with a foot on either side of his thighs. "I'd like to ask you what you're doing here, Ray, but it's patently obvious, I'm afraid." 

"Then if you know what I'm doing why don't you let me get back to it?" Ray felt his heart thudding against his undershirt. Benny had really frightened him this time. Now his lover was, well, it looked almost like glaring. If anybody else were standing over him looking down with that kind of an expression on their face Ray would have described it as glaring. 

"I'm afraid," Fraser began as he knelt on one knee, "that it appears all to clearly that you are engaged in an illegal activity." He touched the zipper talon of Ray's light jacket. 

Ray felt the instant heat that flooded his body whenever he was lying under his lover. "Something illegal?" he asked, his voice growing husky. "And if I am, what are you planning to do about it? He shifted his grip on the binoculars case, freeing his right hand so he could stroke up Fraser's arm. 

"My plan, Ray, is to--" He stopped as Rays wandering hand reached his shoulder and slid over and down his chest. "My plan is to stop you, and--" Ray found the tiny nub of Fraser's left nipple. "Stop that, please." 

"Ah, Benny. You really want me too?" Benny tugged his jacket zipper down and Ray grinned. He slid his hand down lower, finding the zipper of Benny's jeans. 

"Yes, please. And I'm afraid I must insist on borrowing," Fraser leaned down and ran a hand around Ray's waist to the back, "these," he finished as he puled out Ray's handcuffs. 

"Here?" Ray asked with equal alarm and delight. He glanced around quickly as Benny snapped the cuffs on his wrists. "You are just full of surprises, you know that?" 

"I'm afraid that you're mistaken, Ray." Fraser hauled the lithe man easily to his feet and steered him to the Buick Riviera parked a few yards away. 

"Oh. *Not* here. Well, I can live with that," Ray said cheerfully as he allowed the Mountie to tug him along. He began to hum a different tune and as Fraser pushed him firmly into the passenger seat Ray burst into song. "Hurt so go-ood. Ohu baby, make it hurt so goo--" 

Fraser slammed the Riv's door much harder than necessary and glared skyward as he marched to the driver's side. He opened the door and Ray's exuberant, yet slightly off-key voice greeted him like a gale force wind. Stoically the Mountie climbed in, for once grateful that Diefenbaker had chosen to remain at the apartment. He needed no further witnesses to *this* bit of humiliation. 

"--Love don't feel like it should, you make it, hurt so good, da da da da *da*, da--" 

"Ray!" Fraser whipped his eyes back to the road, mortified at his own angry tone. But the song was . . . horribly . . . suggestive. "I fear you've misunderstood my intentions--" 

"Oh, *that's* for sure, Benny." Ray grinned at him and moved his cuffed hands up Fraser's right thigh to the target he'd barely touched earlier. "Apparently," he continued, oblivious to Fraser screeching to a halt at the edge of the two lane road, "I think there's a lotta things I used to misunderstand about you--" 

He stopped mid sentence as he realized Benny was getting out. His lover opened the passenger door, hauled him out and in one swift motion shoved him on his side in the back seat. Ray grinned up at him. 

Fraser accidentally allowed a scowl to flash across his handsome features before he slammed the door and resumed his seat behind the steering wheel. Once in the flow of the increasingly congested traffic his lover launched into song again. Under *any* other circumstances this would have delighted the man. To see Ray participate in any activity that brought him pleasure was Fraser's ultimate joy. But this . . . "Oh, dear." 

"I-iiii, should'a realized a lott'a things before, if this is love you gotta give me more, give me more, give me more, hey hey hey! Oh oh, I-iiiii . . . " 

Fraser gritted his teeth as Ray released the latch on the passenger seat, tilted the seat-back forward and pushed a shoeless foot between the V opening. The detective's voice rose and warbled as he probed his toes at Fraser's hip and up over his thigh. "Ray!" He tried talking. "No use." He shook his head. "Is this some type of hideously secret American torture technique, Ray? Murdering popular music by assaulting persons with it?" 

"gotta give me more-- Huh? Yeah, Benny." Ray grinned and changed tunes. "*Born* in the U S A, I was *born* in the U S A, I'm a long gone . . . " 

That elegant sock-clad foot snaked its way into Fraser's crotch. He clutched the wheel and drew his knees tightly together. Ray's dexterous toes plundered the deep creases of denim and pressed into erotic crevices. Fraser's palms became damp. Fraser caught sight of the twenty-seventh precinct house and almost cried with relief. As he hauled the *born* in the U S A man from the back seat Ray's rendition cut off in mid-syllable. 

"What the *hell*- Benny! What the hell are we doin' here? Hey! Stop it," he commanded as Fraser began forcing him to the entrance. 

"Come along quietly, Ray or I shall be forced--" 

"Are you nuts?" Ray jerked and managed to free himself but only momentarily. The Mountie lunged at him and scooped him up over his shoulder. 

"Benny! I'm ordering you--" 

"Hey Fraser." Detective Huey called a greeting as he met the Canadian on the stairs to the squad room. "Hey Vecchio," he addressed the man's rump as they approached him. "I see you've finally found a good use for the Mountie. But it seems kinda extreme just to save wear and tear on one sock. Where's you shoe--" He stopped and stared as Fraser passed him. Huey's eyes felt as if their aim was instantly glued on the handcuffs Ray wore. He had no doubt who had placed them there. 

Ray twisted his head around, trying to glare at Jack. "You just gonna *stand* there, Huey? You gonna let some *foreigner* humiliate one of Chicago's finest while you just stand there and gape?" 

"Ray, Detective Huey is in no position to interfere with my activities. And as to *humiliating* you, frankly I think you've done a remarkably thorough job of that all by yourself." 

***

"-- and Detective Vecchio followed the couple to a secluded spot along the shore today. He observed them from a secluded location using these," he paused and held up the items in question, "binoculars which apparently he *borrowed* from me without my knowledge or consent." Fraser placed the offensive object on Lieutenant Welsh's desk and crossed his arms as he switched his disapproving gaze to the one-shoed detective. 

Ray slumped a little more defiantly on Welsh's couch and tried to generate a scorching laser beam from his eyes. Benny never flinched. 

"Thank you, Constable. I must admit, Vecchio, this is the first time I've ever had one of my officers hauled in under arrest by his own partner. *Unofficial* partner, that is. I do have one minor question, though." 

"Well, if you expect an *answer*, then you'd better ask your minor question of *Fraser*," he said frostily, *bitterly* frosty. 

"An excellent suggestion, Detective. Oh, Constable? I need the names of the "stalkees" for the report. I'd like to have *all* the facts straight before I--" and he paused to flash a gleam at Ray's frozen face, "have the distinct pleasure of placing Detective Vecchio back in that holding cell where you first found him. When I think of how much simpler my life would be if he'd *never* gotten out of there . . . " 

"Ah. The, as it were, victims' names, sir?" Fraser ran his thumbnail across his right eyebrow. 

The lieutenant shifted his triumphant gaze to the Mountie and that gaze lost it's unequivocal victorious light. His gravelly voice lost it's note of glee as he repeated, "The names, Constable." 

"I believe, sir . . . the persons in question are, sir . . . a Mrs. Sofia Vecchio of Chicago Illinois and a Sergeant Frobisher, sir. Of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, sir." 

Welsh sank back in his desk chair. His whole demeanor deflated as he looked forlornly at his detective. He shook his head and turned to the Canadian. "Constable Fraser, Mrs. Vecchio is--" he began sadly, then bolted upright. "Frobisher?" he demanded. "With that lovely woman?" 

"Yes, sir," Ray growled the words through clenched teeth. "Sergeant *Buck* Frobisher. With *my* mother." 

Welsh spared a brief glance at Fraser as he rose ominously from his desk chair. 

Fraser swallowed and backed up a few short steps as the imposing gentleman rounded the desk to stand toe to toe with him. 

"Constable," he said in a low voice, "would you happen to be in possession of Detective Vecchio's keys?" He held out his hand. 

"Y- yes, sir." Fraser hastily dropped the key ring in the man's blocky palm. 

"And perhaps his shoe?" 

"No sir." He gave that quick little shake of his head, a half turn to the left, then a snap to the right. 

Welsh motioned for the detective to hold his wrists out and he unlocked the cuffs. After he dropped them and the keys in Ray's hands he turned back to Fraser. "Perhaps you and I need to have a little *discussion* concerning your recent actions, Constable. You won't mind--" He whirled back to his office door as Ray slipped out. "Detective Vecchio!" he bellowed. 

Ray slid to a stop three feet from his launching point. He lurched back to the opening and peered around the doorjamb. "Sir?" he responded, his eyebrows raised. 

"You've forgotten something." Welsh fished the binoculars off his desk and tossed them to the detective. 

Fraser opened his mouth to object to the lieutenant *loaning* his binoculars out but at further thought decided to keep his objection to himself. As Ray launched himself from the doorway Fraser heard snatches of *another* tune. He identified it as "Secret Agent Man" as performed by the singer, Johnny Rivers. Ray seemed to have altered some of the words and Fraser flinched as a particularly loud phrase emanated up the stairwell. 

"Odds are Buck won't *live* to see to- *morrow*, Yeah, I'm a . . . Secret *aye* gent man . . . " 

"Oh dear." 

"Yes, Constable. Oh dear is right. Now let's have that little talk, shall we?" The lieutenant shut his office door and closed the blinds. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The end. Tune in . . .  yad yada . . .  next episode . . . A Buck & Change 11 or An Invitation to *Revenge* 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Cuffs R Us quiz department, under the Management of Ms. L. Taylor is delighted to bring you another of their titillating and mind expanding quizzes. Please, enjoy. 

Questions:

1 What illegal activity was Ray engaged in when Ben found him? 

  * a Poisoning pigeons in the park?
  * b Stalking his mother?
  * c Licking maple syrup off Sgt. Frobisher?



2 What was like a gale force wind?

3 The detective's ______ rose and _____ as he probed his _____ at Fraser's hip and up over his thigh. 

4 What was greater; Ray's humiliation or Ben's ire at the interview with Welsh? (Protractors may be used.) 

Do not attempt to answer question three. Under no circumstances should you try to write on two sides of the paper at the same time. Do not attempt to sit this exam: in zero gravity in the back of a car in dire straits in the middle of sex. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Answers:

1 B 

2 Ray's exuberant voice. 

3 Voice, warbled, toes. 

4 3X47(k)>77/4r3e(55%X742.20)0405<9.5=888 

(For the American translation of the phrase, "sit an exam" please contact Ms. Taylor.) 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. No infringement of any copyrights held by Alliance Communication, CBS, CTV, or any others is intended. This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced in any form. The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story. 

Mitch_H@hotmail.com

geocities.com/soho/lofts/5843/mh-fict.htm

   
  


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